He announced his candidacy at his alma gator school in Florida.
“Lloyd,” the principal said, swinging her tail slowly in the swamp, “you can’t run for president.”
Lloyd never did like her much.
“I’m running for president,” he repeated, and amid the clamor of confused bellows, he stepped down from the muddy bank and went to work.
Getting press coverage for his campaign was a simple matter of entering human civilization and declaring his intention to run for the presidency. No one could ignore an alligator, especially when nearby diners caused a ruckus as they ran screaming from their tables, abandoning warm coffee and croissants.
Fear and confusion quickly turned into amusement, then surprised approval. Lloyd was an excellent orator and knew just when to throw in a perfectly tasteful joke. He addressed the issues people cared about and only made promises that he knew he could keep. “What a refreshing change,” people would say to each other, nodding as they bought in to his energetic optimism.
Amongst his many natural advantages, Lloyd’s primary one was perhaps his permanent toothy smile. No matter how tired he was from flying here and there and delivering countless speeches, his winning grin was always ready for the press. “He looks too smug,” an opponent once dared to say in his presence. Lloyd yawned, and the man stayed suspiciously quiet for the rest of the evening.
In early January, people watched their television screens from the edge of their seats, daring to believe that the next President of the United States would once again mark a turning point in history. The final electoral votes were counted. Red, white, and blue flashed victoriously worldwide. America: land of the free, and of alligator presidents.
Everyone loved President Lloyd. He was a master at mediating conflict, and even elephants and donkeys had reason to shake hands. Of course, there were those who openly criticized his policies, nitpicking over things he’d roared in speeches and pointing fingers at his extreme stance on Animal Welfare. Fortunately, Lloyd had very thick skin.
By the end of his eight years, his approval rating was at a record 98% (1% of voters had prior negative experiences with alligators, and the other 1% was still too busy reeling in disbelief to process much else).
Later he’d write a book — An Investigator’s Look into Presidency — that would have bookstores scrambling to keep up with its high demand.